- Once again, the numbers came in one unit above despair. So we started again.
- We were told to follow the data but we weren’t told the numbers were heartless tricksters.
- We tried to elicit sympathy from a number once, but much as we sobbed and pleaded, it just lay there bent on its side (it was a five).
- We decided numbers don’t understand us, so how could we follow them anymore?
- We asked the data to tell us about the stars, and it replied with naked digits. We knew it had gotten something wrong, because the awe was gone.
- We looked at the stars ourselves and counting was an act of wonder. We felt like kneeling.
- We thought we were free from the numbers, but the hive speaks with numbers. We languished without them. We were too alone.
- When we started, we thought each number was fixed, but they float lighter than butterflies outmaneuvering our hands.
- We found their refusal to be known made us madder than the cold severity we’d once imagined.
- But sometimes when we chased them, we wondered if the numbers thought we teased them by not pinning them down. We just never found a way.
- Though we’ve returned, we still feel alone. Those around us believe in the numbers, while we’ve been stabbed by doubt.
